Savin' Me
by Tigrera5793
Summary: To escape the harsh reality of prison, Sinbad recalls the fond memories of a sweet love and the crumbling of his life. An Sinbad/Esmeralda fic.
1. Chapter 1: Prison Gates Won't Open

Where had he gone wrong? Where had he slipped up—where had he let things get so far ahead of him that he had ended up in such a low and despicable position? Why did it have to end like this?

Sinbad groaned as he hit his head against the cold stone walls, hoping that the impact might provide the answers. These questions had been daunting him, with nothing around to take him away from them. There was the routine footstep of guards as they walked between the cells, keeping the inmates in check. There was the occasional gull that flew by his window, gliding on the gentle breeze that weaved between the bars and taunted him with the salty scent of the sea. Every so often, there was the high pitched scream of an inmate as guards pulled him to his death—the screech bouncing off the stone walls and making its way into every room. He was never able to see these men, the window in the thick wooden door too small to see much of anything. Sometimes the nights were just cold enough where he could listen to the music of water as the dew dripped off the walls. Far, far off in the distance, he could hear the low roar of the sea calling to him, begging for him to rejoin it.

He held his head in his hands, wanting to escape from it all. Just for a moment, he wanted to be numb, to let things pass by unnoticed until _he _was the man screaming as he was carried to his death. Just a moment of quiet, where he could block away the sounds of the world and the voice in his head that screamed and shouted at him. He had screwed up, and it constantly reminded him of that.

She probably hated him. Maybe she burned everything that reminded her of him, flew into a fury at the very mentioning of his name. It had been so long since they had last been together—perhaps she had forgotten him completely. After all, why would she ever want to remember a man who had lied to her—a man who now sat in prison and spent every day wallowing in misery and praying that it was his last.

There was no hope for him—not here. He had to pay for his crimes and accept the punishment dealt to him by fate. Destiny had given him everything, only to take it away with such rage and force that it left him reeling.

A soft scent carried on the wind as it snuck into the window and curled around him. The light taste of cinnamon, resting upon the sweet fragrance of blossoms. Of the very blossoms that he had given her from her birthday, of the one that she had put in her thick curls and danced around with. The very scent that she carried, that he would take in like a drug as he brought her close. The scent that he craved—the one that now seemed so far from his reach.

He closed his eyes as he pressed his back against the chilled wall. There was no point fighting it, no point trying to escape. With a sigh, he let himself be engulfed by the wave of memories.


	2. Chapter 2: While I Reach For You

**Kay here. Sorry for the late update, but I've been busy with work and other projects! I'm going to try to keep up with an update a month, so just bear with me, okay? And reviews would be much appreciated; it only takes a minute to give me enough motivation to keep on writing!**

It had been a routine visit back home. Back to the port city, to the towering buildings, shuffling people, and runaway animals. To the stone streets, the colorful flags that hung overhead, to the noise and shouts and cheers of the people. It was so different from a life on the ship—from the nearly constant quiet that was only sometimes rewarded by the truly cantankerous nature of his men. The sea life was hard, but it did have its rewards.

It made Sinbad bear the respect of a merchant, and the profits that came behind it. There was wealth to be found out there, the very same sort that had people waiting for months at the docks just to buy his exotic goods. They fought and clawed to get in front when his ship arrived, usually causing so much of a ruckus that he was unable to leave for a few days. But he acted right—humoring them and treating them well, acting as friendly as he could physically manage. After all, he was respected here, more so than if he had ever found a different job.

Then again, _they _all thought that he was just a simple sailor. One who that the money and skill to go to different lands, make good deals, and bring back the goods as oh-so-reasonable prices. Had they known that their dear Sinbad was a pirate, well, it probably wouldn't end so well for him. Instead of talking their heads off, they'd be screaming about chopping off his. It would end rather quickly, he supposed, with either a hanging or beheading. Piracy just wasn't as accepted as it used to be.

"Nothing much has changed here, since you left." Proteus walked in front, leading Sinbad and Kale through the city, just as he did _every _time Sinbad returned home.

"Apparently your sense of style hasn't either." Sinbad grinned, pointing out the ridiculously long ponytail that hung off the back of his friend's head. Kale, his first mate, nudged Sinbad in the side, but Sinbad didn't pay much attention.

After all, Proteus laughed, just like Sinbad knew he would. They had been friends since childhood, going out on all sorts of adventures. When Sinbad decided to be a pirate, Proteus stood by him, just like he always had. But he wasn't the type to go out on the seas for months at a time. No, he was the kind to stay here, the one who sold whatever goods remained when Sinbad left, the one who encouraged Sinbad's good name amongst the people. He was the one who had introduced Sinbad to Kale (the ridiculously brawny though insanely loyal man that Sinbad had grown to trust), had put forth the money to get a ship, and had done everything to get the best crew for the job. In short, Proteus was a life-line, one that Sinbad always knew he could rely on.

"It's the same people, same place." Sinbad observed lightly. "I come back because I don't expect it to change." After all, this was the only constant he knew he could rely on, far outside of the realm of action and adventure that so defined his life.

"True enough." Proteus smiled. He paused, stopping in the middle of the street to face his two friends. His eyes lowered, his voice quiet. "She was waiting for you too, you know."

Sinbad had to maintain control of himself, keeping his expression the same as he rolled back on his heels. He made sure no one was particularly nearby as he spoke. "Where is she?"

Proteus' gaze flicked to a nearby alleyway, one that was used often by people wanting to avoid the thick crowds of the main street. "Where else?" A smile formed on his face as he turned around and continued to walk, swerving around people and making his way into the alleyway.

Their pace slowed, allowing them to meander as they slowly made their way through the alley. There were still people here, but it was much less the hustle and bustle of the normal crowd that allowed them to relax. It was only here that they could hear the sound of horns and drums, and the faint sound of a tambourine as the music bounced off the walls. It was only here that they could see the part of society that no one wanted to accept—to see the gypsies perform.

They kept close to the side of the alley, out of the way of most passerby. A few people stood to watch them, while others dropped a coin or two in a small hat as they passed. But Sinbad's gaze quickly moved to the woman in-between the musicians, dancing to the music as it moved her. Her skirts swirled and flared about her, making every movement just seem all the more graceful. There was no delicacy to her—no, she was certainly no wilting flower—but it was beautiful all the same. It was the reason why he still went to sea, so that he might keep this beauty alive.

Esmeralda. The very woman he treasured above all that he had possibly stolen, anything that he could ever carry in the holds of his ship. Everything about her was beautiful, everything she did lifted him high and made him feel more alive. An angel in human form.

But not one that would be accepted by the church. They damned the thick dark hair that swirled and danced about her, that was the color of obsidian and a texture that could never be compared to. They damned the dark color of her skin, the very color and flawlessness that could never be found in ivory or porcelain. They damned the color of her eyes, the jade gems that looked so eagerly and cheerfully at the world around. In short: they damned gypsies.

Because of that, he had to pretend that he didn't know her. The world could not see that she was the love of his life, the very thing that kept him alive and fighting. He had to hide his gaze of admiration, his pride, or else he would lose everything. People here had no respect for gypsies, nor for those that sympathized with them. His "good merchant" reputation would fall apart in seconds, no matter what he had done. They would only see him as a sinner tainted by the evil race that plagued the alleys of their precious city.

Esmeralda's eyes caught his as she moved and swayed to the changing beat. She knew his predicament, and understood it better than anyone else ever could. In public, they had to stay secret, and she stuck to that more than anyone else ever would. Her smile softened slightly, winking at him as a way of saying "welcome home."

A shrill whistle echoed off the walls, cutting off the music and the dancing almost immediately. A small child hung from a nearby roof, his dark face full of worry and urgency. The people around them began to dissipate, all too familiar with the warning. Musicians hid away their instruments, scrambling from their seats and working as quickly as possible to vanish away. Soldiers were coming. If they were caught, it was likely that they would be imprisoned and tortured to no ends, accused of crimes they had never committed. That was the life of a gypsy in a world that hated them so.

Esmeralda reached for the small hat filled with coins. Even without Sinbad around, _she _didn't need it to survive. But the others weren't so fortunate. She would not let their hard work go to waste, wouldn't let them starve in the streets when there was money that was rightfully theirs. The soldiers didn't understand that. Any possession a gypsy had was automatically labeled as stolen, regardless of what the truth was. They were even less forgiving as the people.

And they had come quicker than usual—two of them—much faster than could be expected. By the time Esmeralda had maneuvered around the scattering crowd to collect the hat, the iron fists of the soldiers were clasped on her shoulders. They attempted to pry the small hat away from her, but she wouldn't have it. She fought and cursed, knowing well that she had little chance of escape. But she would not let the hat leave her hands, no matter what. Even if it might provide the only chance of escape.

"Sinbad. You can't." A solid hand pressed against Sinbad's shoulder, pulling him back. He hadn't realized that his hands were already on his blades, his body shifted forward to attack and defend what was his. His body had acted without him, but he was not going to disagree with it.

He looked back to Proteus, an angry glare dominating his expression. He could understand his friend's concern—everything could be ruined if he was caught. But if they took her, he would never see her again. No matter how strong she was, she wouldn't escape. She wouldn't survive.

Proteus swallowed, knowing all-too-well the problem before them. He stared at his friend, concern high and weak to the desperation in Sinbad's expression. His glance flitted upward, to the still struggling soldiers. A smile played on his face, and he tipped his head lightly.

The soldiers had turned around in their fight against Esmeralda, their backs to any leftover onlookers. But no one was watching—nearly everyone else had fled, leaving only the desperate and unwanted in the streets. For a professional like Sinbad, this was too easy.

He moved quickly, his feet making no sound as he made it to the still-struggling soldiers. One hit, and they were both unconscious upon the floor. He kicked them each once in the head for good measure, just so that they would not awake too soon. Besides, they needed big enough headaches when they awoke just so they couldn't remember any details about this little tussle. Not like they would want to report to the higher-ups about their miserable failure.

A smug smile tugged at Sinbad's expression, and there was no way he might resist it. With the streets as their own, he would be free to greet his love. And how thankful she would be, with her love saving her life so soon after he had returned! She might even give him a bit of a treat! The thought lifted him high.

He looked up from the unconscious bodies of the soldiers, finding only disappointment. Esmeralda wasn't close, wasn't aching to give her greetings. No, she was far down the street, running from the scene and vanishing into the crowd.

"You sure the two were still going out?" Kale asked, teasingly looking over to Proteus.

Proteus' expression nearly had the same level of perplection as Sinbad's. "Well, _I _thought so."

_So did I_, Sinbad thought glumly, looking into the empty space. Had he done something wrong?


	3. Chapter 3: Come Please, I'm Calling

**Kay here. I'll be brief: between a nasty cold and a ton of work, I haven't had the time to update. Please have it in your hearts to forgive me! As usual, reviews are appreciated!**

"Women." Sinbad growled, maneuvering through the streets in a anger-fueled pace. He nearly forgot to bow to the pompous judge, or the greeting soldiers, or even the sweet baker on the corner of the street. Gods, he was falling apart. Just because she ran away—without giving him so much as a look.

"No appreciation. Nope. '_Thank you Sinbad, you saved my life_!'" Sinbad pitched his voice slightly higher, mocking a woman who wasn't even there. Oh, but she should be able to feel his anger—isn't that how things worked? "Or '_thank you for keeping those guards off! I don't know what I would have done if they captured me_!'" He cleared his throat slightly, though sure to keep his voice low. "Not a problem! Taking out armed guards is nothing, as long as it means you're safe."

He shut his mouth quickly as he passed a couple well-dressed women. He gave them a smile and nod, trying his best to ignore their giggles as they passed. He did not need to stack another embarrassment on top of the one Esmeralda already supplied him. He watched as they turned the corner, his face hot. Nope, no relief from embarrassment today.

He sighed, murmuring to himself. "I'll do anything for you." It was true; for Esmeralda, he would walk through fire, fight the worst fiends in the seven seas, even kill. Anything to keep her safe, shielded from a world that hated people like her. Unlike Sinbad, it was not so easy for her to blend in.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something going on that she couldn't tell him. Not in public.

He paused at the entrance to an alley, looking up and down the street. The area was completely clear, most of the nearby inhabitants off to do their work in a more condensed part of the city. But this was good—he wouldn't have to linger out in the open.

Footsteps quiet, he made his way down in the deeper part of the alley, where the surrounding buildings were so close to each other that the sun could only touch the streets for a couple hours a day. Darkness was king here, but that was nothing to the king of the pirates. In fact, it was his shelter.

He came to the alley's end, where a small door lay hidden in the corner. The wood was black, meant to blend in with the surroundings. His safe house—a sanctuary he gave to Esmeralda so she could hide when things got bad. It had once been his home, before his piracy was particularly lucrative, but it was too suspicious for a rich merchant to live in a hidden place. So he took a home in the center of the city, and gave this to Esmeralda as her own. Her home and their meeting place.

It wasn't exactly like he expected her to be here. As a gypsy, there were hundreds of places for her to hide in the cracks of the city, places they could go to avoid soldiers and the violence of hatred. But he had a hope.

He opened the door quietly, locking it behind him. A small lantern was lit near the entrance, illuminating the staircase that led underground. He made his way down the stairs, passing the lit lanterns. So she was here, and fairly recently—the wax had barely started to be affected.

Finally, he made it to the bottom, where there was one last door. Another lock, another means of protection. But the door was slightly open, not quite closed. Esmeralda wouldn't be so careless as to leave it open, not when she was sure to close the upstairs door. Besides, she always took every precaution, her life keeping her controlled and away from unnecessary risk. So she was waiting for him—knew he was coming.

A smile on his face, he opened the door, only to quickly hide behind it once more. Shock nearly stopped his heart. He leaned his head against the door, afraid to look behind it once more and confirm what a mere second had shown him. Esmeralda. His Esmeralda.

Knowing it must be done, he cracked the door open slightly, peeking in the small space. He wanted proof his eyes weren't lying to him. And instead he only found something more condemning.

There she was, sitting on the edge of her bed while another man lay down in it, covered by a light sheet. A blonde man. Her bed. The one he carved from mahogany, from some stupid ship from New Zealand, as a birthday—no. Shouldn't get distracted. The man murmured something unintelligible, something that made her smile. She reached for a nearby bottle, offering it to him. He smiled. Covered in her sheet. Lying in her bed. With her sitting on the edge of it. Laughing at him.

Kale was right, if only in jest. She wasn't his, perhaps she never had been. Enjoyed the benefits of being a pirate's girl, enduring having to entertain him when he came back from sea. No, that was never Esmeralda. He could never fathom her like that. Perhaps she was lonely, unable to take being left alone so long, given only short moments and empty promises. He was a fool and a cruel soul to expect that of her.

He shut the door back to the way it had been. He tried to convince himself that perhaps it was an illusion—that he was making a mistake—but there was undeniable evidence in front of him. He couldn't fight that. He also couldn't fight the guilt that this was his fault. How could he blame her when he had done so wrong?

In anger, he slammed his head against the door, wanting to force the image out of his head. He couldn't take it, no matter how reasonable it was—no matter how fair it was.

His eyes widened. "Crap." He had just revealed himself. So much for being sly, for vanishing and giving Esmeralda what she deserved.

The door opened, nearly making him fall through. He recovered quickly, straightening and making it as purposeful as possible. Esmeralda, her hand on the door, looked at him with curiosity. Her hair was slightly twisted and tangled from her run, fluffed slightly and restrained by her little headband; bright eyes looked at him eagerly; cheeks darkened lightly with a blush—or surprise; lips curved up so slightly in her teasing smile; the life within her so vibrant and open. There was innocence about her—one that shouldn't be there. Even if it was merited, shouldn't she feel the least bit guilty?

"Sinbad!" Her voice caressed him, making him ill with how much he missed it—how he wished it was his again. "I missed you!"

He couldn't restrain himself, his sorrow transformed into anger and seeped into his words. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"And what's _that _supposed to mean?" Still playful, mocking—so ignorant and blissfully unaware of what she was doing.

"Well, for one," he turned on her, waving an angry hand at the blonde intruder, "how about _him_." The man glanced at Sinbad as he was signaled to before closing his eyes, bored. Oh, Sinbad wanted to murder the stranger now. It took all the power he had to restrain himself. "Company while I'm gone?"

Esmeralda opened her mouth to protest, only to quickly think better of it and shut it once more. Her eyes were dark and fierce, challenging him more than words ever could.

Then, a change. She began to laugh, a small snicker growing into a stomach-wrenching laugh. She held her stomach, unable to control herself.

Sinbad opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to shout, to yell, but her laughter prevented it. It was enough. There was no way she would take him seriously, not now—nor ever. And he had been humiliated enough already. He would not stand for any more of it.

He turned on his heels, storming off into _his _room in the home that was _his_. Of course, he was sure to send the intruder a death-threat packaged in a glare, just before he slammed the door behind him. Perhaps, when he was more willing, he'd murder the damn man—the reason everything had fallen apart. The source of his foul mood. Yeah, that would help. Besides, it was fine to kill intruders in your home, especially when they stole what was yours. Lesser men had gotten away with it.

But, for now, he would be satisfied by staring a hole of hate into his wall, arms crossed as he lay in his hammock.


End file.
